A long and winding road

When children's novelist Adèle Geras found that she and Margaret Atwood had both chosen the same subject - Odysseus' wife, Penelope - for their latest books, she looked forward to the chance to talk to her about it. She describes the seven-month odyssey that ensued

Think of this piece as an understudy. It's standing in for an interview with Margaret Atwood that I've been trying to set up since the end of March this year. I've failed to do that so, as well as a brief account of Atwood's (fantastic) The Penelopiad, what you're getting instead is the story of my personal odyssey.

I don't normally write stuff like 'personal odyssey', but the Homeric reference is deliberate. The story begins when I discovered, in late March, that Margaret Atwood was writing a book called The Penelopiad as one of the first in the Canongate Great Myths of the World series. Myths, as Karen Armstrong tells us in her short introductory book, are powerful and ever-present in our lives in all sorts of ways. It's no surprise, therefore, when several writers find themselves preoccupied with the same subject. A couple of years ago, for instance, four separate novels about Noah's Ark appeared almost simultaneously. So. Margaret Atwood and I had both written about Penelope. I began my own book, Ithaka, in 2002, after having greatly enjoyed writing a novel called Troy, which was set at the time of the Trojan War. Ithaka took over two years to complete because along the way I was lured by the (benign!) sirens of Proper Grown-up Fiction and took time out to write Facing the Light and Hester's Story for the adult list at Orion. I finished Ithaka in January 2005. As soon as the Canongate Myths books were announced, the prospect of a face-to-face interview with one of my favourite and most revered novelists was very alluring. I sent an email to Canongate at once. Guardian Unlimited Books commissioned an interview, while Geraldine Brennan of the Times Educational Supplement commissioned me to review all three of the Myths books (the review appeared on October 28). I was all set up, I thought, as a bona fide media-type person. I even arranged to borrow a natty little tape recorder from my friend.

Then began the elaborate dance that led, in the end, to this very non-interview. Publisher directed me to agent. Agent directed me to PR firm. I put my request to each and every one of them and received polite "We'll see nearer the time" sort of answers. Fair enough. Who can possibly fix up an interview six months in advance?

When a smart bound proof of Ithaka appeared, I sent a copy to the publisher's PR firm at once, and asked again about the interview. I was told that the Myths books were strictly embargoed because of serialization deals, and so on. Again, I was happy to wait. I signed the embargo letter. There was mention of a possible phone interview. I received the books and read them.

I was aware that Margaret Atwood was giving a dramatized reading of The Penelopiad in London on October 26, so on October 23, I sent an email explaining when I could come down to London. I also left a phone message, but I haven't heard back. Does Margaret Atwood know of my request? Did she get the proof I sent? Who knows?

Okay, so I can't tell you anything about the author from personal experience. Never mind - there's the book itself. This is, as I absolutely knew it would be way back in March, a real virtuoso piece. A corker. Fantastic. Intelligent. Every bit as good as promised. I love it and will treasure the very beautiful volume that was sent to me.

I was particularly interested to see where Atwood's emphases and my own differed and converged. We both, for instance, broken up a prose narrative with poetry. The idea of turning The Odyssey around so that Penelope's story is foregrounded occurred to us both. In Atwood's book, Penelope speaks from the land of the dead in a voice that is laconic, humorous and clever. It's my feeling that this may be how the author herself speaks, but I've no way of knowing. Penelope's weaving is important in both our novels, but I've turned Odysseus' adventures into pictures appearing on his wife's loom - a notion that originates in Penelope Shuttle's (yes, really) poem, Penelope. Argos the dog plays a part in my story but not in Atwood's.

I could go on. Ideally, I'd like everyone to read both books. They could then 'compare and contrast', as we used to do in English essays at school. And they could return to Homer's Odyssey, which is still enchanting readers after thousands of years. It's a hard act to follow, but I guarantee that Atwood and I won't be the last writers to have a go at it.